


Hanging On By a Thread

by sans_souci2



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Death Wish, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_souci2/pseuds/sans_souci2
Summary: Episode Nine Coda-After Roger and his family drive away Riggs is in a bad place.





	

He waved.

Roge and his kids and Trish waved back.

 _Good_.

He forced himself to smile. It was the least he could do. As soon as their car crested the ridge and he was sure they couldn’t see him, he dropped his hand and went inside-shivering. There was a weird chill in the air. This wasn’t the way Christmas in LA was supposed to feel. He knew it for a fact- he’d done this drill before. Instantly, the way your tongue goes to a sore tooth, his mind shot him images of the two of them standing in front of her parent’s place. He’d been hot as hell under that sweater. It must have been at least seventy degrees that night. _Now it was what? Sixty? Not even that?_

_So is this how it plays out?_

_Once you bring your wife home in a coffin, nothing, not one damn thing will ever be the same again?_

He pulled on a jacket, grabbed the bottle he’d hidden from Murtaugh and his family and slumped down on the couch. After a long swig he laid his head back and closed his eyes.

_So when does it let up?_

_When do I stop feeling like dying would be such a fucking relief?_

_Or does it never?_

It’s what he’s been starting to suspect is the truth.

_It’s been how many months?_

He takes another long swig but the booze is doing nothing. The ache in his chest-the ache that’s been there every minute of every day since he raced into that hospital in El Paso is flexing its muscles like a damn boxing ring favorite.

Oddly, he feels no desire to set the son of a bitch straight.

Like it's hell bent on adding to the night’s misery, the wind outside picks up, forcing its way through every loose seam of the trailer. The blanket he’d given the kid, the only blanket he owns is on the floor at his feet. He reaches down for it, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering.

_Jesus it’s cold._

_Fucking trailer._

It wasn’t exactly his idea of an ideal living arrangement but since he can park it on the stretch of beach that Miranda called hers-the stretch where she always came to clear her head, it’s the only place he can stand to come home to.

Home is where the heart is.

_Did he just say that out loud?_

His lips feel a little funny, maybe the damn whiskey is finally kicking in. Another long sip might just help.

Sprawled on the sofa he let’s himself go to the place that’s so damn inviting and so damn dangerous.

_Who would fucking care?_

There are no Riggs waiting in the wings to wring their hands and dab at their eyes.

_Wait._

For a split second he pictures Miranda’s parents. He likes them, both of them. They’re good people. They’d be hit hard. But you know what? They’ve already been hit harder than they can ever be hit again.

Not at all steady on his feet he gets up and goes to the for-shit storage cabinet by the door. All he has to do is smack the back of his hand against it and the thing opens.

Inside, organized and just recently cleaned are his weapons. The things a Navy SEAL lives and dies by.

He laughs at the irony.

Keeping your weapons in perfect order is what you do if you want to stay alive. It’s been drummed into his head since day one. And now? Now he’s got an impressive array of weapons at his fingertips for the exact opposite purpose?

_Maybe it’s part of some cosmic plan?_

_Maybe he should just go with it?_

He takes another swig of whisky but grimaces at the bitterness. A second later his stomach lets him know he better do this soon. He may well be puking his guts up pretty soon.

The Glock catches his eyes.

It’s a beautiful weapon.

He sets the bottle down and picks it up, turning it over in his hands and thinking about how effective it will be. One shot under the chin angled upward and all this will be over.

It’s almost too good to imagine.

Of course it's too good.

Suddenly Miranda is right there next to him. Her soft smile, the way she's shaking her head all but levels him.

It’s a sin, she says succinctly frowning at him just a little for even considering such a thing. _Don't disappoint me baby._

He puts the Glock back and collapses on the couch.

Cruel and unusual, that's what it is. A death sentence that no one's willing to carry out.

He'll just have to get creative he tells himself.

Where there's a will there's a way.


End file.
